


that’s the thing about old gods, there are no devils

by 2davidbeckham3



Series: WIPs [3]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Gen, No Plot/Plotless, Old Gods, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 08:47:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20132662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: ok, so this might've been a football monthly prompt? i honestly don't know what this is or where the title came from, but all you need to know is that gods exist in this universe & luis enrique comes from a long line of priests.





	that’s the thing about old gods, there are no devils

**Author's Note:**

> ok, so this might've been a football monthly prompt? i honestly don't know what this is or where the title came from, but all you need to know is that gods exist in this universe & luis enrique comes from a long line of priests.

“So, how long have you known?”

Pep’s question doesn’t as much surprise him as much as the timing does. In all honesty, Lucho expected Pep would’ve approached him sooner.

“A while,” Lucho responds, favoring to move things around aimlessly in his locker instead of turning to look at, a presumably ticked off, Pep leaning against Amor’s locker.

“You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

Lucho slams his locker door shut and fixes Pep with a cold glare.

To his credit, Pep doesn’t even flinch, though, it’s not like he had a reason to. Lucho’s ire couldn’t cause a natural disaster like certain others’ could. Still, Lucho takes some credit in making Pep look uncomfortable, the way he tightens his crossed arms a familiar, too-human tell showing that this conversation wasn’t going the way that he had hoped.

“Of course, I didn’t tell anyone.” Lucho clenches his jaw and braces for the inevitable next question.

“How did you know?”

Lucho’s glare hardens, he can tell by the way Pep juts his chin up, defiant. It’s all too-human, all too ingrained, not rehearsed in the slightest.

Pep’s old, probably centuries old.

Something in Lucho’s chest tightens while his resolve crumbles. He hates being proven wrong.

It’s in his veins, he could say. He heard the stories his grandfather would tell him during rainy spring nights, fairy tales, not history, even when his heart told him otherwise.

“I’m from Asturias,” he replies. And, it could be that simple. It’s the land of kings, where everyone studies every object like it has a meaning. “I’m predisposed.” And Lucho wants to shrug it off, but he can’t. Not everyone knows what to look for, a specific posture, a floating gait.

Pep knows who Luis is and what blood runs through his veins.

Lucho can feel it, unable to tell another half-truth, pinned by a sharp gaze that betrays knowledge beyond its years. “What?” Lucho taunts, all bravado, entirely defensive. “Never made friends with a nonbeliever?”

To his credit, Pep ignores him. Arms still half-crossed, Pep extends his hand, holding it expectantly between the two of them.

It’s all deliberately mundane, Lucho suddenly realizes as his anger disapates all at once.

Lucho reaches out and shakes Pep’s hand. And it should be significant, a silent acknowledgment of his lineage that he’s spent his whole life denying. And, yet, he still can’t bring himself to care.

“Do your worst, Josep.”

**Author's Note:**

> vaguely inspired by the medieval spain college course i took


End file.
